May 8, 1999

The Hero's Loss

I've pictured a strange and perplexing situation. A toddler stands in the middle of a street, giggling as the truck prepares to run her down. A man, presumably the hero, manages to run out and wrap himself around the child, acting as a cushion to the impact. The girl is fine, but he is broken and bleeding on the ground, but not to the point of death. Weak of breath, he tries to tell a friend something, but the friend manages to only recognize the name of a mutual friend and the word love. She is not present, so the friend makes the point of contacting her immediately after the hero is taken to the hospital.

His wounds leave him unconscious for several days, but she, out of some heart-spawned nursing yearn, keeps a constant vigil by him. He awakens late at night and feels her hand in his. Her mind awakens to a flurry of wants and activities. What should she tell him? Should she get the doctor? Should she pretend to sleep? Should he speak first?

He does speak first. He tells her to hold off on the doctor, but that's all he gets out before she breaks in. He listens to her, but in silence, he regrets every loving word he hears. While lying on that pavement, he had wanted to say do not tell her, do not let her come. He cared about her, yes, but he did not want fear of death to make her feel the same. He wanted her love to come from life, not the shortness of life. Love had been given to him on a silver platter, utterly devaluing it all.

That is the puzzle. The hero's heroics have won him the woman's heart, just as the classics would tell it, but is this love true? He does not believe this, and, thus, the hero feels a loss. There is a puzzle here, but I know not the question nor the answer.